


Criminal Minds Imagine Tumblr Prompts

by FlynnWriter



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Drabbles, Imagines, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26452912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlynnWriter/pseuds/FlynnWriter
Summary: Imagines from tumblr imagining-criminal-minds
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

Prompt: Imagine Reid staying with you for a few days so he could look after you after you suffer from a mental illness relapse.

All prompts from imagining criminal minds tumblr 

The office was unbearable today. You sat at your desk in the bullpen, trying to ignore the stagnant atmosphere. Nothing was happening. Something should be happening. You looked at your hands and noticed that they were trembling. Stop, you told yourself. Get it together. The paperwork on your desk stared back at you, challenging you to a duel of persistence and will. You couldn't shake the fog that had settled over you since your…episode. Call it what it is, you told yourself. You had a panic attack.

You were mentally kicking yourself, although it was nothing to be embarrassed by. But you thought you had them under control. You didn't like needing the medications, but you could admit that they helped. But then last night…it wasn't triggered by anything, it just…happened. And it was exhausting. You barely even made it out of bed this morning, and you didn't even try to fight it with coffee out of fear that the caffeine would make it happen again.

Now, as you were trying to make it through a pile of tedious paperwork, you were distracted by trying to assess your body in case it happened again. Most people would consider it hypervigilance, but you were too busy wondering if your foot always jiggled as severely as it did now, or if your shoulders were always this tense. Running a hand through your hair, you exhaled deeply, trying to simultaneously relax and wake up.

Give up. Go home. You tried to shake away the thoughts and power through, but you knew that you wouldn't be able to accomplish anything until you got the anxiety under control. And that couldn't be done here at the BAU. You pushed your chair back and stood up, taking a moment to try and force breath into your lungs. As you walked to Hotch's office, you cracked your knuckles. This was your sign that you were on the verge, it was a bad habit from childhood that had turned into a tell that you couldn't control. You knocked on Hotch's door, then walked in. "Hey Hotch."

"(Y/N), come on in," he said, finishing what he was writing. When he looked up, he focused first on your face, and when he saw your expression, he looked immediately at your hands. "You're having panic attacks again."

"It was just one, last night." You explained, trying to keep your voice level.

"I thought you had them under control." His voice had no sign of disapproval, but your anxiety was never content to take things at face value. He's disappointed.

"I tried, and they were good for a little while, but last night I just…And today, I think it's happening again."

"(Y/N), are you having one right now?" He stood up, moving towards you. The embarrassment you felt was beginning to build, and you could feel the familiar adrenaline that moved through your veins. Tears began to leak from your eyes in embarrassment, but Hotch had been through this with you and knew what to do. He led you to the couch with a hand on the small of your back, and sat down next to you, rubbing your back.

"Just breathe." He murmured. He stood up and quickly shut the blinds, then returned to your side. "In…Out. In…Out." He took your hands, opening them from the fists that you don't remember clenching. "You're okay. You're here."

His words and calm demeanor quieted your breaths, and though you still trembled, it felt like you were regaining control. "I'm okay, Aaron."

"You're going home," was his response. You nodded, relaxing backwards into the cushions.

"I just need to relax before I leave, I don't like driving afterwards." You rubbed your hands over your face, trying your hardest not to be completely weak. Hotch was great in these situations, but he was your boss.

"I think you misunderstood. Someone is driving you home. I have a meeting this afternoon, but I could get Anderson, or Morgan."

The whole team knew about the attacks, two or three years ago it wasn't uncommon to have one every week. They were the ones that insisted you see someone about it. When you left Hotch's office, it didn't surprise you that their eyes followed you, but you knew it wasn't in judgement. You approached Morgan, and he spun to face you. "How are you doing?"

"Not so well." You admitted. "Will you drive me home?"

"Sure thing." This is what you loved about them. They didn't ask questions. Morgan grabbed his keys and jacket, and you grabbed yours from your chair, and took a couple of files as well, in hopes that you could finish them at home. "Not a chance." Morgan said, tossing the files on his own desk.

"Can I come?" Reid asked, taking a few more files from your desk. "I'm already done for the day."

"Of course you are. Spence, it's really not necessary."

"I know, but I want to. I can cook you dinner." You and Spencer had bonded over your mutual lack of cooking skills, and early in your friendship the two of you had taken cooking classes so that you could make passable food, although it was by no means outstanding.

"I was going to grab her some indian food on the way home."

Their banter relaxed you, and their concern was reassuring. You're such a bother. No. No, you weren't. You let them lead you outside and unlocked your small car, handing Morgan the keys. He opened the passenger-side car door for you (a true gentleman) as Reid hopped into the back seat, then made a show of scooting the seat back. "You're so short." You smiled, but all of the energy had been drained out of you, so you let your head fall against the cool window. "Music?" Morgan asked.

You reached for the knob, turning it to a soccer podcast that you had been listening to on the way in. "I said music." He repeated, a smile playing across his face.

"Morgan…" Again, you didn't have the energy to argue, but Morgan let it go. He's annoyed, your inner critic said, and you leaned forward to flip it to a classical music station. Leaning back, you let the smooth purr of your car fill your head, trying to force yourself out of the headspace that felt so suffocating sometimes.

It wasn't a long drive to get to your house, but you were already close to sleep. The three of you rode the elevator silently to your floor, and Morgan unlocked the door to let you in to your place. Morgan wrapped you in a strong hug and looked expectantly at Reid, who was standing further into the entry way. "Can I stay?" Reid asked awkwardly. "I know you'll probably want to rest, but I brought some work and I could be here when you wake up."

"Yeah, thanks Spence." You said softly. Not even bothering with further conversation, you dropped your bag and let your body fall onto the couch, pulling a warm fleece blanket up to your chin. Usually, you didn't like having people around after your panic attacks, but these people…they made you feel safe.

You woke up to a darkened apartment, with a glow from the lights of your kitchen. You wrapped the blanket around you as you stood up and wandered into the other room, where Reid was scribbling something on a legal pad. "Hey." You said, walking towards the fridge.

"How are you?" He asked, shoving aside the papers.

"Thirtsy. Tired." He gave you the softest of grins, the sort that conveyed familiarity and a bit of pity. "Frustrated." You added, making his eyebrows lift. "I'm supposed to have these under control. I don't know why it happened, and it all just seems ridiculous."

"Ridiculous how?"

"I'm an adult. I know…how to deal with things. I should know how to…be in control. There's no reason."

"There's a reason." Reid interjected. "You just don't know it."

"I want to know it." You said, slamming the refrigerator shut. "I hate having a panic attack. It feels like the floor has just been dropped out from under you, and I can't focus on anything except that I'm getting more and more panicked. And it's for no good reason."

Reid was quiet, and he chose his words carefully. "Mental illnesses…are so hard. It's not like a physical illness, no matter what people say. I think that most people, without realizing it, push you into giving in to the illness, when what you really need is just to look past it. Before…before my mom's schizophrenia got bad, she tried so hard to control it, and it wore her down. But when people told her to stop fighting and learn to work with it, or around it, it just made her feel weak."

"I can't separate myself from it." You said honestly. "And I'm afraid other people can't either."

He just nodded thoughtfully, and began to doodle on his notepad. "You're a capable agent. You do your job. We all have shortcomings that make us wish we were better. Achilles' heels." You leaned against your counter, staring into your glass of orange juice. "That sounds wrong."

"No, Spence. It really doesn't…You get it. I mean, Morgan and the others know what's going on, but understanding it is something else."

"Speaking of the team…" His phone buzzed. He checked it, then tucked it back into his bag.

"We have a case?"

"You should stay here. Recover."

"Reid, what did we just talk about?" You tossed the blanket on the couch and rinsed your glass, making a decision. "I'm okay, I'm ready. Let's go."


	2. Chapter 2

Prompt: your fever lasts over 48 hours, you're covered in cold sweat and still.. you're afraid of doctors. derek makes you go, but won't leave your side for even a minute.

"I'm worried about you, (Y/N)." Morgan said, wiping your forehead with a cool washcloth. You were huddled in a fetal position on the hotel bed, and he was leaning against the headboard next to you. The rest of the team was out working a case, but Hotch had sent you back to the hotel yesterday afternoon to recover, and Morgan had stopped by this morning to check in. He took your temperature again and checked his phone worriedly. "You're at 102 degrees."

"It hasn't gone up." You murmured, keeping your eyes closed.

"It hasn't gone down. Here, take another sip of water." He held the cup out, but you pushed it away.

"I don't want to sit up."

"(Y/N), you need fluids." You shook your head again, and felt chills begin to creep slowly up your spine. The feverish cycle of freezing, then burning up had gone on for almost two days now, and the team was starting to get concerned.

"I just need blankets." Your teeth were beginning to chatter, and the chills turned into violent shivering. "I'm f-f-fine."

"(Y/N)…" Morgan said, trying to rub warmth into you with his large hands. "That's it. I'm taking you to the hospital."

"N-n-n-no, I-I'm fine."

"It wasn't a question." He stood up and started shoving your things into your small duffel bag.

"All they would do is give me fluids, and I can get that here. S-see?" You sat up and reached for the glass of water Morgan had left, but the room began to spin. "Uhh…" you murmured, letting yourself fall back against the pillows. "I'm not going."

"It's not a choice." He pulled out his cell phone and dialed, then held it up to his ear. "Yeah, Hotch. (Y/N) needs to go to the hospital, the fever hasn't broken and I'm not optimistic. Yeah, I'll drive. I'll keep you updated." Morgan hung up, slung the duffel bag over his shoulder, and walked over to kneel next to you.

"(Y/N), do you think you can stand?"

"I'm not going, Derek." It was meant to sound stubborn, but as you were shivering and curled into a fetal position, it came out quite pathetically.

Without warning, his arms snuck under you on the bed, taking you and your warm cocoon of blankets on his arms. Somehow, he got the door open and walked out a back door to where the black SUV was parked.

He set you down so you were standing on your own, but he kept an arm wrapped around you just in case as he opened the back door. You shook your head one more time, just in case it was an idle threat, but the world began to spin again. "Derek..." your weak voice warned. He lifted you up and laid you on the back bench seat before slamming the door and hopping into the front.

His phone buzzed as he started the engine. "Yeah JJ, we're heading there now. Still has a pretty high fever, and I'm starting to get worried about dehydration." The rocking of the SUV and the pounding of your head made it hard to focus on what he was saying, but the more concerning prospect for you was the hospital. You were not a fan of hospitals, ever since you were young. Your father had gotten brain cancer when you were in elementary school, and you had zero happy memories of the many hours you spent by his side in the hospital.

But it wasn't just a mild dislike. It was straight up fear. As you realized where Derek was taking you, foreboding grew in your chest. "Derek…" You tried again. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, then back to the road in front of you.

"We'll be there soon, hang in there (Y/N)." You knew him well enough to hear the fear in his voice, and you knew that concern from the normally unflappable agent did not bode well for you. You closed your eyes again, desperately trying to pull some warmth from the blankets he had wrapped you in. Another violent shiver coursed through your body, making your teeth chatter audibly. "We're almost there. It's just around the corner."

You heard the sirens on the SUV start up and Morgan gunned the engine. You felt the SUV lurch and tried to keep from vomiting from the suddenly bumpy ride. Mercifully (or maybe not) the SUV slammed to a halt. Morgan threw open the door with surprising force, but the hands that smoothly scooped you up were gentle. "We need help." He said, his voice calm but urgent. You felt your body land on something soft, probably a gurney, and more hands covered your body, pressing and feeling and poking.

Your fear of hospitals sent your senses on overdrive, and though you were trying your hardest to suppress it, the anxiety filled your body. As the brightness and whiteness of the hospital overwhelmed you, you felt yourself beginning to flinch away from the soothing hands and sensors, whimpering. Voices around you began to grow louder, and you couldn't tell if your fever was taking over or your fear. A persistent beeping started, and a panicked voice. "Doctor, we have tachycardia. Is she having a heart attack?"

A heart attack. Of course. Just what you needed. It was only further corroboration of your fear of anything and everything hospital related. The phobia took over, and you let yourself go limp, blocking out everything around you. Closing your eyes tightly, you tried to go to your happy place. Or your feverish hallucinations. Whatever.

Suddenly, it all subsided. Someone had stuck a needle in your right hand, but your left hand was being clasped in someone else's large, warm hands. Familiar hands. "Morgan?"

"Hey (Y/N). It's alright, you're alright. We're going to take care of you." His brown eyes met yours, full of compassion and worry.

"Heart attack?" You whispered, trying to ignore the medical personnel gathered at your side that looked ready to strike.

"Panic attack. You really don't like hospitals, do you?" You closed your eyes and let a tear slide out, then another one. "Hey (Y/N). It's okay. You're going to be okay. I'm right here."

"Stay." You whispered.

"Right by your side. I'm not leaving." He glanced up at a nearby doctor, who was starting to look antsy. "If I stay with you, can you let them help? I promise they're not going to hurt you."

You nodded weakly. "Stay."

You blamed the fever. A hallucinatory mirage must be the only explanation for waking up in bed…pressed against the hunk of body that was Derek Morgan. It would have been considerably more pleasant if your entire body didn't ache. Or if your head wasn't pounding. Or if you weren't in a hospital. The realization flushed all air from your lungs, and sent your pulse racing. The sensor clipped to your fingertip kept time with the accelerating beat, and you could feel Morgan's body shift. He knelt down so his face was level with yours, and he stroked your hair gently with one hand. "(Y/N). Hey, it's okay. You're okay." His murmuring pulled you back down from the adrenaline high, but you were still shaking.

"Am I dying?" You asked honestly, fearing the worst.

To his credit, he could see the weight of the fear in your eyes, and his reply was serious and reassuring. "No, you're not dying. You have bacterial pneumonia, and you were seriously dehydrated when I brought you in. But you're going to be fine."

"Derek, I don't want to be here." Your hand was shaking as it crept out from under the covers, and Derek enveloped it in his, hiding the IV line.

"I'll be here with you. JJ is on her way too, and the team is just wrapping up the case. We're all here."

The promises weren't enough, however. You focused on your breathing, trying your best to avoid another panic attack. "(Y/N), do you want me to get a nurse? We can get you something to help you sleep." Tears came to your eyes as you nodded.

He let go of your hand to press the call button, but quickly returned to stroking your shoulder, trying to ease out the tension. "I'm sorry," you whispered, not knowing how else to explain exactly what you were feeling. Embarrassed. Weak. Irrational. All were good words, but none of them could perfectly communicate all of the emotions flooding you in this moment.

"I'm here. Just try to calm down. You're okay." A nurse came in, and Morgan sat back in the chair next to you bed, not letting go of your hand. "Can we keep her sedated? She's too anxious in hospitals, especially in this condition."

"Of course." She added something to the IV and you began to feel sleepy almost immediately. You let your eyes closed, and felt Morgan's hands sweep your bangs off your forehead, letting his hand linger as he took your temperature.

"She's doing a lot better." He said to the nurse. She murmured her agreement, but it was too soft for you to hear. Morgan saw your eyes look towards him, and he smiled. It was the kindest, gentlest smile, and it made you warm. "You're okay, (Y/N). I'll stay right here."


	3. Chapter 3

Prompt: Imagine coming back from Iraq and the team is there to greet you

Going home, Coming Home

You couldn't wait. As you walked through the doors with your usual coffee order, it felt like any other day. But it had been two years…and yet, you had no doubt that your team would be there to welcome you back. As you turned the corner to the bullpen, adrenaline flooded your body. And suddenly—there they were. After all the emails, snail mail, and late night skype sessions, you were finally reunited.

The smiles on their faces made you feel so happy. Spencer, Dave, Aaron, Derek, Penelope, JJ, and Alex. They were all huddled around your old desk, where you could see a cake waiting for you. Though your army training kept you under control, inside your heart was singing to know that the BAU family hadn't changed.

Garcia was the first one to reach you, enveloping you in a hug. You accepted gratefully, and she murmured something into your hair.

"What was that?" You asked, pulling away slightly.

"I can't believe you're finally home!" She said again, squeezing tighter. Surprising you, Derek came up and wrapped the both of you in his wider embrace, and you laid your head against his broad shoulders. He still smelled the same, you noted…an enigmatic mixture of sawdust and cologne.

"Welcome home, (Y/N)." He breathed against your hair. "We missed you." They both released you, and instantly JJ stepped up, giving you a tight squeeze. She had been your rock through all of it, along with Hotch. They knew the demands of military life, but they also knew you the best out of everyone on the team.

Hotch, Blake, Rossi were next, hugging you and then letting go. The last one to greet you was Spencer, who awkwardly shifting side to side. "Of the percentage of soldiers that come home from combat zones and are sensitive to touch, I figured it would be safer if I just…you know…"

"I'm fine, Spencer. Come here." It was his hugs that you had missed the most, the unique way his spindly arms wrapped around you, somehow providing the same warm familiarity that the others had. Reid reminded you of your little brother, who had passed away two years before you enlisted. His death had hit you hard, and Spencer had been the person who slowly brought you back to life.

"I missed you." You said.

"I'm glad you're back." He pulled away, still staring hard at your face. You knew that the entire team would be monitoring you today, searching for signs of PTSD or any indication that something had changed. You knew what JJ had gone through, you knew that they knew your experience overseas was not exactly easy. Your training in Psychology was greatly needed by the military, but instead of helping soldiers, you had been assigned to a unit that worked as an extension of the Iraqi police force, a liaison of sorts between the women of the community and law enforcement.

You spent your time leading a task force that addressed the violence against women. It was noble work, but it also took its toll. Everything became more personal, more raw, but you had been fine until…you shook your head. Now was not the time to think about it.

"So." You said brightly, smiling at your team. "When's the first case?"

"Now." Hotch said, looking at you curiously. "Madison, Wisconsin. Wheels up in thirty."

Suddenly, your stomach turned unpleasantly. Madison. You said to yourself. You were going home.

It wasn't that you didn't like going home, it was more like…you just hadn't been home. In a while. Maybe it had been a year. Or six. Or maybe…since you graduated. And moved out. You stared out the window of the jet and tried to discern what you're feeling. There was the easy familiarity of being back with the team, but at the same time your stomach was jumping with the anxiety of being home. It wasn't the prospect of seeing your family that was nerve-racking; they didn't even know that you were coming.

No, what made you nervous was the idea that your hometown hadn't changed, but you had. You barely felt at home in your own DC apartment, and the idea of returning to the streets of your childhood didn't even seem realistic. You had gone to Iraq to get away from your uncomfortable relationship with the concept of 'home'. Suddenly, you felt a hand on your shoulder. Jerking around, you turned to face the intrusion, and found yourself facing Morgan's concerned face.

"Hey (Y/N). Where's your head at?" Just hearing his soft voice again made you smile.

"I'm just thinking about going home." You said distractedly, turning to face the window again. "It's going to be weird."

"Seeing your family again?"

You laughed gently. "I'm trying to avoid that if possible."

His smile faltered. "You're going home for the first time in two years, and you don't want to see your family?"

"I'm working."

He seemed to accept this as a valid response, but you could tell that he wasn't satisfied. "So, why don't you want to go home?"

Immediately, you bristled. "I never said that I didn't want to." But you knew that you had been profiled. "It's not going to feel like home anymore. Iraq isn't home, but DC isn't home either. And Madison…I grew up there, I went to school there. It should be my home, even if nowhere else in the world is. But I feel so out of place."

"It's common for soldiers to need some time to readjust when they return home."

"You don't think I know that? Believe me, I know." You knew the statistics of PTSD among soldiers, and you knew yourself enough to be worried. But for them to worry… "I am dealing with it. I'm not ignoring it, hoping that one day I'll just be over it."

"Okay."

"I don't have PTSD."

"Denial." He shot back immediately. But there was a smile behind it, and you knew that he believed you. "Are you still up to date in all of your qualifications?"

"Do you think Hotch would allow me in the field if I wasn't?." One of the many advantages to working in the military was the constant training and tests. "I'll sit your sorry ass on the mat any time you want to spar."

"I bet you would." He looked at you with warmth in his eyes, like just the sight of you had made him happy. "I'm just glad you're back." JJ eyed you over the top of her tablet, and you got the sneaking suspicion that the whole team had been eavesdropping. Morgan went back to his seat across the table from Reid, who was reading from a tablet, rapidly swiping a finger across the screen almost faster than the pages could load.

"Spencer, when did you finally go digital?" You asked from across the jet. "Of all the things I thought would change while I was gone, your technological reticence was not one.

He looked at the machine in his hands woefully. "Garcia gave it to me so I could read independently published works from the internet. She got sick of printing out 300 page novels for me and said that I was killing too many trees."

"How many pages do you think you've read over your entire lifetime?" You queried. Spencer's daily reports on the literature he devoured was another one of the things you missed the most while you were away.

"I've actually tried to come up with a lot of estimates based off of varying parameters, but none of them have had statistically significant results."

"I'm just looking for a ballpark number here, dude."

"There's a minimum of three million. It could be as much as eight million. It also depends if you include newspapers and magazines or not."

"And the average person?"

"It depends on your definition of average." You laughed softly at his frank refusal to answer such a vague question. "The Gallup poll has extremely different conclusions about the average American than say, the Pew Research Center. And it varies geographically and socioeconomically."

"Average unsub?" This time, it was Morgan's curiosity that ensnared Reid's mental calculator. The conversation turned to the case at hand, and your attention turned toward the window. Suddenly, you saw the familiar football stadium of the state university. Your stomach lurched at the memories it created, and you stood up to go to the restroom in case your welcome-back cake decided to make another appearance.

"(Y/N)?" JJ asked worriedly. She followed you to the back of the plane, laying a hand on your back. "What's going on?"

"My brother… he graduated from Madison." JJ immediately understood. Your older brother had passed away just two months before you accepted the position in the army, his death was basically the reason you had left. He hadn't died in Madison, but the memories of going to football games with him was enough to dredge up feelings you had been ignoring in your time abroad.

"(Y/N), you need to talk to someone. Does anyone from Iraq know about him?"

"No, I didn't tell anyone."

"Then tell me. I get it." Suddenly, it struck you. Her time in the middle east, her sister's suicide. She did get it. For a second, you considered letting down your walls. But the rest of the team was watching you as well, and you didn't feel like breaking down in front of them so soon after you had got back.

"Later." You murmured, turning back to face the team with a brave smile. Her eyes on your back, you returned to your seat. "I'm not used to such a smooth flight." You joked, trying to diffuse the team's tension. "Next time, someone book us a military transport; I'll feel much better."

That night in a hotel, as you were lounging on the bed watching local news, the knock at your door didn't come as a complete surprise. You unchained and unbolted the door, letting JJ in. Wordlessly, she came in and sat cross-legged on the bed, casting a sideways glance at the three empty hotel liquor bottled on your night stand. "Hey Jayje." You said, not letting nervous anticipation get to you. If there was one thing you learned while in the service, it was how to stop your emotions from playing across your face like a silent film.

"Welcome back." She smiled gently.

"You already said that, but thanks."

"It's strange, isn't it…you think you will just be coming back to your old life, but it's not the same." Her words walked the line between reminiscing and realizing, and you could tell that her past was not completely behind her.

"I can't get used to the privacy." You admitted, falling down on the bed and leaning against the headboard. JJ just nodded. "You guys are the first people I've seen since I got back."

"And it already feels like a lot."

"My cat died too." You continued, thinking of the lackadaisical tabby you left behind with your neighbor. "He was old, so it was kind of expected. But still…the apartment is pretty empty. I shut my bedroom door out of habit, but it was kind of pointless." JJ let you continue, staring at you with concern. "It all seems kind of pointless," You finally confessed. "That's why I asked Hotch if I could start today instead of waiting for two weeks like the brass wanted me to. This, at least, doesn't seem pointless."

"It does, sometimes. Being here…means you're not there. Even if what we did over there seems futile…" she let herself trail off.

"It's away." You said. "Being away was good enough."

"You miss your brother."

You bristled automatically, and went for the low blow. "You miss your sister." But enough time had one by that her wounds weren't as fresh as yours, and she blew it off.

"Have you even talked to your parents?"

"I sent them a few emails. It's not like they were itching to talk to me."

JJ rolled her eyes. "Excuses, excuses." She refused to let you drop the subject. "How are you handling being back? How are you sleeping?"

"I've always been fine running on little sleep…I get as much as I need."

"(Y/N), you have to believe me." JJ moved to set her hand on your leg, but she pulled it back. "Even if you don't think it's PTSD. Something is different, you know it, I know it. The bed is too soft, the lights are too bright, the sounds are too…mechanic."

You hadn't cried since his funeral. Not overseas, not when you came home. But now, tears started to trickle down your cheeks, and they soon turned into sobs. Now, when she had put it in words, it all became too real. The isolation you had tried to escape by leaving, and then by coming back, finally caught up with you. But as you felt a hole tearing in your stomach, you suddenly felt JJ's arms around you, cradling you close as you let yourself fall apart.


	4. Chapter 4

Prompt: Someone comforting you after you lost a friend in an accident

You unlocked your door, set the grocery bags down on the counter, and sat down in a kitchen chair, trying to adjust to what you had just heard. It had been a normal day, until that phone call that you answered while you were running up the stairs to your apartment. You had almost let it go to voicemail, your hands were full, but there had to be some reason why your best friend's father was calling you. Her words had stopped you where you stood, but someone else coming up the stairs behind you had jostled you into moving forward again.

The conversation…was not one you had ever expected to have. She was dead, you told yourself, but the words didn't sound right. She couldn't be…dead. It didn't feel like anything had changed. You were best friends…you should feel something different, something wrong. You tried to force tears to your eyes, hoping that it would make the situation more real, but you couldn't. Your phone vibrated again, and you grabbed it quickly, hoping for a text or email from her. But it was from Aaron, telling you that he had just gotten home from his case and would be by your apartment any minute.

Your thumbs hovered over the screen, typed out a reply, erased it, tried again, erased it…you set your phone back down. There wasn't anything you could say to him, you couldn't even find the words to make sense of it yourself. She was gone. The thought was lodged in your head; a boulder in the stream of consciousness, and you were starting to feel the rock settle into your heart. The last time you had seen her had been just two days ago, at the park where you two had spent most of your childhood together. The recent memory seemed fuzzy in comparison to the sharp realization that was spiking through your head: the last time with her was the last time.

Finally, the tears began to come to your eyes, and just as the first one dripped down your cheek, Aaron eased through the door that you had left open, leading cautiously with his gun. "(Y/N)?" He gasped, dropping his gun immediately. "What's wrong? What happened?" He scooted your chair away from the table and scanned your body, checking for any injuries as you struggled to regain control of your breathing. Kneeling in front of you, he cradled your cheek in one hand and gently stroked your knee with the other, gently soothing you. You slid off the chair and onto the floor, letting yourself fall against his side as he wrapped his arms around you and kissed the top of your head.

"(Y/N)", he started again. "Tell me what's wrong."

"She's dead." You whimpered, swiping at the moisture on your cheeks. "I just saw here…and there was a car accident…She's dead, Aaron." He seemed to understand who you were talking about, or maybe he didn't, but his arms around seemed to know that you needed to be held together to keep from falling apart.

He cradled your head in the curve of his neck, close to his heart, and the warmth of his body was leeching into you, energizing you and comforting you with each fierce beat. "(Y/N)." He whispered, looking down at you as your tears stopped. "Go find a picture of the two of you. I'm sure you have one."

You nodded, and he helped you up, dusting you off. You dusted him off as well, smiling a bit at his suit, covered in dust. "Was it wrinkled before you got here or after?" You hiccupped, a meager attempt at humor.

"Before." Aaron responded. "Now go."

You went to your room and found the first picture that came to mind: the two of you, a couple of years before, at graduation, the only time that you ever matched each other. She was in the process of adjusting the tassel on your mortarboard, and you were arranging a stray curl around her cheeks. It was the pre-picture, a candid that your mom had snapped before you took the nice picture. But it had caught the two of you in a pure, unadulterated friendship that was natural and un-posed.

You took it back to the kitchen and handed it wordlessly to Aaron, who had taken a picture of himself out of the frame on the wall and replaced it with the picture you had given him, then returned it to the wall. "Keep it where you can see her," he said gently. "Sometimes you might not want to be reminded of what you lost, but more often than not seeing it will help you remember the good times. All of the good memories."

"It's like…I don't even miss her yet. It doesn't feel real." You murmured, and he wrapped you up in another hug.

"It will. But when you get to that point…you have me. You won't have to be lonely, I swear I won't leave until you tell me to go. Multiple times. And even then, I might just sit outside your building until you decide to let me back in."

"And what makes you think I'd do that?" You asked. It was safe in his embrace…some people said that safety was where nothing bad could happen…but you knew that safety was knowing that when something bad happened, you had someone that would fight tooth and nail to make it better. "What makes you think that I'd let you back in?" you teased gently.

"Because you love me." Aaron responded, suddenly serious. "But I love you more."


	5. Chapter 5

Prompt: Coming Out to the team

You looked at your fist, ready to knock, and tried to exhale the nerves that had been slowly building since last night. Your forced yourself to knock, and nudged the door open. "Hey Hotch."

"(Y/N). What's up? Is there a new case?"

The questions didn't even register. "Hotch, can you call a meeting."

"Of course. Is there something wrong?" He seemed to know the answer before he asked the question, but he also wasn't one to jump to conclusions.

"There's something I need to tell the team…News. Sort of." You stared at your cuticles, cursing their ragged edges that stung from being picked too low.

"I'll let them know." He got out his phone and sent a quick text to the team. "Do you want to talk to me about it first?"

You let out a strangled laugh. If anything, he was the one you were least eager to tell. Not that he wouldn't understand, but… "No. Everybody at once."

"Alright." He didn't say another word as he stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. You trailed behind them as he led the way to the round table room, where most of the team was already sitting, working on your current case.

"I'm here, I'm here!" JJ said, rushing in behind you. "Did you finish the profile?"

"(Y/N) has something to say." Hotch's words mystified the rest of the team, and you could feel all of their eyes swivel to you.

Shit. Shiiiittt. "Hi." You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Why was this so hard? "I was at home last night. And…I was thinking." You cursed yourself for sounding so stupid. Just spit it out. "I'm a…a lesbian." The word hung in the room, but no one's face fell, no one looked shocked… "I like girls." You clarified.

Hotch looked at Rossi, who returned the uneasy glance. Shit. So many thoughts ran through your head, and you turned to leave. I'll have to find a new job. Maybe I should go back to school. Suddenly, you heard Garcia squeal. "I have the best person for you!" She wrapped her arms around you. "God, you two will be perfect! I've always thought…but I didn't want to say anything."

"You guys knew?"

Reid looked confused. "I didn't." He grumbled.

Garcia gently slapped his shoulder. "You didn't even notice JJ and Will until they went on their fourth date."

"I knew about Beth before you!" He fired back.

"Hotch needed JJ to babysit when they went on their first date and you happened to be with her and Henry." The spat was heating up, good-natured teasing coming from all people in the room.

"Wait!" You finally said over everyone. "So, you guys don't care? That I'm a lesbian?"

"Of course we care!" Morgan reassured you, a twinkle in his eye. "Now I have to compete with you for all the pretty ladies."

"We love you sweetie," Garcia confirmed. "But this doesn't change anything. You're still the same (Y/N)."

"You're not mad that I didn't tell you before?"

"As long as you don't have a secret girlfriend." Rossi cocked his head towards Reid.

"YOU WOULDN'T." Garcia shrieked.

"I might." And just like that, the room erupted once again, and your soft exhale of relief was lost in the chatter. The truth was out. And just like the CIA liked to say, it had set you free.


	6. Chapter 6

Prompt: Morgan pretends to date you because someone was obnoxiously hitting on you in a club.

You leaned against the cool gray marble bar, slowly slipping on your G&T as you waited for Ella to return from the powder room. Her drink was right next to yours, and you weren't about to take your eyes off it, especially after the stories that had been on the news about girls getting drugged and kidnapped. Suddenly, you felt a hand hot and heavy on your back. Scratch that, on your butt. You whipped around, a disgusted expression on your face, to see a man ten years your elder looking back at you. He said something with a smirk on his face, but the music was pounding and his words got lost.

Rolling your eyes, you politely lifted his hand off yourself and practically shouted, "NO THANK YOU!" as you turned back to the bar. But instead of getting the message, he walked around to your other side and leaned in closer.

"How are you doing tonight, gorgeous?" He asked, slime dripping from his arrogant voice. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Thanks, but I already have one!" You yelled again, indicating the glass in your hand. "Two if my friend doesn't come back soon!" Ella had always had a penchant for getting accidentally pulled onto the dance floor at the worst possible time.

"Gin, huh? You must be a wily woman to hold all that liquor." He leaned against the bar even closer, so that she could feel his breath on his face and smell his overpowering cologne. You looked desperately over your shoulder for the bartender or the bouncer, for anyone, but it was a large club and they were at the other end, dealing with a sloppy pile of drunks.

"Please leave me alone, I'm really not interested." You turned away again and relaxed as you felt him disappear, but seconds later he returned, drink in hand. "Listen, mister. I'm waiting for someone to get here." Your eyes were sparking with annoyance and a small bit of fear, when suddenly you felt another person beside you. A large person.

"Hey sweets, sorry I'm late." You turned and looked up at the man who stood next to you, speechless for a moment at his words, and at his body. His button up shirt was expertly fitted over his frame, and it took you longer to recover from the sight of him than from what was occurring.

"It's no problem." You found yourself murmuring hesitantly.

"Who's this?" The man asked again, looking down at your persistent suitor. His voice was low, and not necessarily loud, but it carried an authoritative power that made you shiver.

"He was just leaving." You said a bit louder. "Have a good night!" The new man put his hand on the small of your back (NOT on your butt) and turned you away, walking a few steps to the wall where it was a bit less crowded.

"Are you okay?" He asked immediately, taking a step back to look at you. Suddenly, you were grateful for the low-cut dark red dress that had attracted male gazes all night.

"I'm fine. I was just…Oh shit, I was supposed to be watching our drinks." You could see the glasses left at the bar, and caught sight of the man again, who made your stomach turn. As you grimaced, Derek turned around too.

"Don't worry about it, I'll buy you some more. Although I hope those weren't both for you." A twinkle in his eye revealed his gentle teasing.

"I'm here with a friend. She probably tripped and fell into a hot guy's arms on the dance floor."

"Happens to me all the time." The man responded cheekily. "Hey, by the way, I'm Derek."

"(Y/N)." You replied easily, shaking his outstretched hand. "Thanks for…whatever that was."

"Not a problem (Y/N)." He slipped his wallet out of his pocket and spread it open to display a badge. "It's kind of my job."

You whistled at the shiny gold badge. "FBI. Impressive." The corners of his eyes crinkled, making your insides squirm happily. "I don't like to flaunt it. We're actually just in town for a case."

"The serial abductions? I've seen it on the news." You tried to play it cool, but damn, the man was good looking. And he was looking at you. "So, are you taking tonight off?"

His face fell a bit. "Looking for information about another missing girl. She had a ticket from here."

Your eyes immediately fell to the club's stamp on the back of your hand, and you felt the playful back-and-forth between you turn into something more serious. "No wonder you're not drinking." You managed to squeak out. "You're on the job."

"Unfortunately." He sighed. You both sensed that your conversation had come to a close. He pulled out a business card and handed it to you, a serious look on his face. "(Y/N), if you hear anything, let us know."

"And if I want to thank you personally again for saving me tonight?" The bold words had tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them, and you saw the beautiful grin reappear on his face. He pulled a pen out of his breast pocket and scribbled a phone number the back of the card.

"Then you can call me later." His velvety voice, suave and self-assured, echoed in your head as he walked away, and suddenly Ella popped up at your shoulder.

"Ooh, who was that?" She squealed, watching him weave back through the crowd. A waiter stopped by the table before you had a chance to respond, handing you and Ella each a drink.

"That…" you paused dramatically, delicately fingering his business card. "That was Agent Derek Morgan."


	7. Chapter 7

Prompt: The reader is having bad nightmares, and she is in kind of a shock when she wakes up and calls Hotch who she has been dating for a while. And Hotch is on jet on his way home and talks with you and you tell him about the nightmare. He calms you down and makes sure that you are okay till you fall back asleep. And when he leaves work he comes to you and stays the whole night with you, making sure that you are not alone during the next nightmare

TW: Loss of a pregnancy

You spread your hand across your full belly, fingers blossoming on the stretch-marked skin. In the stillness, you think you can feel it; your pulse matches the beat of the tiny heart that beats inside of you. It's a wonderful moment, this sensation of closeness, and it brings tears to your eyes. Suddenly, a searing pain cuts into your side, making you double over on top of your precious belly. The agony is withdrawn quickly, and as you notice a figure standing beside you, you attempt to scream. But your mouth is stifled by something, something that you can feel filling your mouth entirely, even though when you claw at it with your hands there's nothing there. So you do the next best thing…you flee. As you scramble off the bed, though, the pain starts again, strong and intense, and the person who has invaded your home, and invaded you, has a hold of you in a crushing grasp. You kick, and yell through the gag, and suddenly…

You wake up shivering, your mouth open and panting from the silent screaming. You try to get a hold of yourself before panic sets in, but it's too late. The panting turns into hyperventilating, and even though your vision is straight, your hands clumsily juggle the cell phone that you keep next to the bed for this exact purpose. The device falls to the ground, and you fall to your knees to find it. But in your raddled mind, a thought makes you stop. You press your hand against your flat stomach and exhale when there is nothing there. You're not pregnant; you never have been.

As your breathing slowly calms down, you grab the cell phone and quickly dial, setting it to speakerphone as you head to the bathroom to throw some water on your face. "(Y/N)" Aaron says, his voice washing over you like a soft breeze. "What's wrong? Is Jack okay?"

Suddenly, a sense of shame washes over you. He doesn't know about the nightmares yet. "Jack's fine." You say hoarsely, staring at your dripping reflection in the mirror.

"Are you okay?" The silence grows as you struggle to decide what to tell him. "(Y/N), what's wrong?" The note of panic in his voice made the decision for you.

"I had a nightmare." The admission is met with silence on his end, she could hear voices in the background. "It's nothing big, I just wanted to see how long until you come back."

"We're on the jet now. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Later." You say, turning away from yourself. It only made you feel weak to see your own sleep-deprived, fearful face in the mirror. "When you get home."

You could hear the worry in his voice. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, uh…it's a long story." A long story. A history that he had never heard. "I just…It was just a nightmare, I'm fine."

"I can hear it in your voice, (Y/N), it's not fine. Can I do anything?" His voice was enough to soothe you, and you could feel your pulse slowing.

"Stay on the line." Your voice wavered as you put the toilet lid down and sat on it, feeling the cool ceramic through your thin sleep shorts. "Just keep talking. Tell me about your case."

"And that won't give you nightmares?" Aaron teased gently. You heard voices on your end, and waited patiently for him to come back to you. "Sorry about that." He said softly.

"It's okay." She slid off the toilet onto the bathroom rug and leaned against the tub.

"I'll be home in three hours, (Y/N). I'll stay on the phone as long as you need me."

"Three hours?" You asked carefully, cradling the phone like a lifeline.

"Or faster. I'll get home to you, I promise."

Sometime later, you heard the bathroom door crack open. Aaron knelt next to you on the floor as you opened your eyes, and he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. As things came back to you, you realized you were still in the bathroom, curled up on the rug, cell phone inches away from your face.

"(Y/N)." Aaron whispered. He pulled you up to him, wrapping you in a strong embrace. Before he said another word, tears started falling down your face. "Shhh." It was safe in his arms, you knew, so you couldn't stop the feelings that came pouring out. His arms didn't let go, they only gently molded you into a more natural position so that he could tuck you against himself easier. "I'm here. It will be okay. Just breathe."

Your tears slowed quickly, and when he felt them stop, Aaron drew you to your feet and led you back to the bedroom. "What time is it?" You asked hoarsely.

"Almost 4:30," He responded. "Do you want to sleep more?"

You climbed under the covers again, but sat up, leaning against the headboard. "Not really. I'm awake now." He nodded and loosened his tie, then stepped out of his shirt and slacks. Slipping off his socks, he let them lay on the floor as he crawled under the covers and sat next to you, close enough so that you could each feel the heat of his arm. You could feel the questions in the distance between you, and gradually you inched yourself literally and metaphorically closer. When his hand slowly covered yours, dwarfing it, you took a deep breath.

"About eight years before I met you, right after grad school, there was an accident. It came out of nowhere, and…the brakes in my car failed, and we were t-boned by a mini-van." The memories come flooding back to your mind, certain moments fuzzy and others crystal clear. "It was just me and the other driver…She was fine, but she hit the driver's side of my car. I spent eight days in the hospital while they monitored me for swelling in my brain. And, I was fine, nothing long lasting, except…" The words choked you, no one other than your family knew what else had resulted. But Aaron was here, and you could trust him. "And the internal trauma damaged my uterus. I…I can't have children, Aaron." It wasn't something you really cried over; everything had already been expended in your past.

"And the nightmares?" Aaron asked quietly. His hand had slid behind your back, holding you as close as he could. You let your head drop onto his broad shoulder.

"I've had them since the accident." You confessed. "They're just so…realistic. Sometimes, they're good, and everything's alright, and I'm pregnant, and the only bad part is waking up. But the others…tonight…something always happens. Someone takes it away from me."

"(Y/N)…I'm so sorry. I'm glad you told me, though." He sighed deeply. He was searching for words, but couldn't find any that could encompass the emotions inside of him. "I love you." He said, the only words he had left.

It made you smile, to hear him say that. "I love you too. And Jack…He's incredible."

"It doesn't hurt you? To raise someone else's child?" His gaze was steady and intense, but you knew it was love and not anything else that motivated it.

"Jack is your child too." You respond thoughtfully. "And I love spending time with him. Of course there are times when I wish he was mine, but…"

"He's as much yours as he his mine." Aaron said quickly. "We've been together since he was three, and you've helped me raise him since then. Everything Haley would have given him, you've done instead. It's clear you love him like he was your own."

"I do love him. He brings so much joy to my life." The smile is easy on your face as you think of all the memories the three of you have shared. "And I love you." They stayed put for a long time, watching the sun rise through the filmy curtains. Neither drifted off, instead they processed the revelation together, waiting for the point at which they could get on with their days. Finally, a small knock sounded at the door and Jack pushed the door open, giddily launching himself onto the bed in a flurry of giggles that made the two of you smile.

"Daddy's home!" He shrieked. In the sudden way of small children everywhere, he wrapped you and Aaron in a large hug. "I love you guys more than breakfast!"

After the morning's events, this declaration brought tears from your eyes, and you met Aaron's gaze as he returned the embrace and smiled. "We love you too, buddy. We love you too."


	8. Chapter 8

Prompt: Reid comforting the reader during a panic attack

The BAU team trudged silently onto the jet; everyone completely worn out from the previous case. It was a wall that they had run into before, a case that couldn't be solved, an unsub that couldn't be caught. Though no one had given up, the leads were scarce and the funds were even more thin, and the team had been recalled after a week with no new information. This plane ride home was eerily silent, as each team member reflected in their individual spheres. You looked around, catching Rossi's eye as he stared into the distance. He acknowledged you with a nod, and let you continue into your thoughts.

The flight went fast, and before you knew it the team was piling out of the jet. Morgan had grabbed your small suitcase and carried it down the stairs for you, smiling gently as you took it from him. "You okay, Newbie?" It had been two years since you started with the team, but Morgan had never gotten over the nickname.

"I'm okay. It's frustrating, you know? But scary too, because our unsub's still walking around somewhere." He put an arm around you as you walked to the SUVs, opening the back door for you. You relaxed into the leather upholstery and Reid slid in next to you. He had heard your response, and looked at you with soft eyes.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No Spencer, I'm okay. Really, I'm fine."

Morgan paused for a moment to hear your response, then turned the key in the ignition. The SUV started without argument as Rossi opened the door and sat down, ignorant of the careful atmosphere that had been constructed. "Thirty minutes to the BAU, ten home, and then two seconds until Mudgie and I go to bed."

Morgan grinned. "Twenty five to the BAU, Rossi. You forget who's driving." He gunned the accelerator to prove his point, and the car lurched forward. As the last of the sun disappeared, leaving purple haze in its wake, your eyes got caught in the colors. Thoughts were running rampant through your head…images of the victims, the voice of your best suspect, and the look in the police chief's eyes as the team left. What a failure you were. You had so much evidence to work with, but when it came down to it, you couldn't follow through. It wasn't the team's fault; they had done their best.

The nagging thoughts were reflections on your interrogation of a hostile witness…something had been wrong, something was off. You played it through in your head, analyzed all the questions that you asked. There had to something you missed, some information that would have broken this case wide open. Your breath hitched as you thought of all the victims again, and their families. Suddenly, you felt the familiar adrenaline rising in your chest. No. You thought to yourself. Not here, and not now. As your breath shortened, you looked around to see if anyone noticed, but the car was quiet. As you struggled to contain the terror building inside, you could feel it building. The chills travelled down your spine, and a whimper escaped your mouth. "No." The single word, almost a whisper, drew the attention of everyone in the car.

"(Y/N)?" Rossi said, craning around. You couldn't respond; your throat was welling up with tears. "Reid, she's shaking!" He said urgently. Derek looked back too, and as he saw your face paling, he pulled the car over to the side of the road.

Their voices were too much for you to comprehend, and you could feel the dams burst inside of you as the all-out panic attack began. "(Y/N), look at me. Right here, look at me." Someone said in the distance. But all that you could comprehend was the lack of air in your chest as you gasped for breath, and the ponding of the blood in your ears. Shit. No, this is not happening. No. No. Not here. God, I can't stop it. Suddenly, Reid's voice, right next to your ear, cut through the commotion. The harshness of it, in comparison to Rossi and Morgan's concern, cut through to you. "She's having a panic attack." He said sternly. "Back off, and shut the doors."

Suddenly, it was quiet again in the cab of the car as Spence took your face in his hands. "It's going to be okay, (Y/N). Breathe with me, as best you can. That's right…in….and out. In…and hold…and out again." His own breath was sure and deep, and he held one of your own hands up to his own chest. Although your breath had slowed to almost normal pace, the thoughts still had complete control, and you could feel yourself slowly dissolving. I can't stop it. Reid, help. I can't…No…"Stay with me, (Y/N). Right here. Can you tell me what's going on?"

"Need…meds…" You gasped. "In my bag. Outside pocket." Reid's momentary disappearance was about to cause the panic to rise again, but he was back in a moment with the pill bottle in hand. He folded your hand around the capsules, then lifted a water bottle to your lips, but it dribbled back out and you spit out the bitter tasting pills that were dissolving on your tongue.

"(Y/N), you need to try to take them, just try. Do your best." Your head bobbed as you shuddered again. "One more time." This time, he cradled your chin and set the pills on your tongue, then gave you the water bottle as you sipped. More water spilled down your chin, but Reid wiped it away. He rubbed your hand and shoulder, trying to regain eye contact. "(Y/N)…Can you look at me? Just look up." You tried, eyes wild, and his hand guided your chin the rest of the way. Finally, he sighed as you met his eyes. "That's right. That's good." The benzodiazepines quickly worked their magic, clearing the tension from your muscles and sending your brain into an exhausted daze.

"Good, (Y/N). Just keep breathing. Good." He opened the car door to Morgan and Rossi. Rossi was on the phone with Hotch and the other SUV of agents, but Morgan immediately went to your side, sliding a comforting hand down your back as you bent over, head between your knees.

"Just lean back, (Y/N). It's over. We're right here." Morgan said softly. "Can you hear me?"

"Yeah." You say, rubbing a hand over your clammy forehead. "Yeah, I'm good. Can we just…I need to go home."

"Yeah, girl. I'll take you home. Just relax, we'll be there soon."

The SUV stopped outside your house, and all three men watched you as you extracted yourself from the car. Morgan opened the back hatch and hauled your suitcase out, then wrapped you up in a tight hug. "You need anything, (Y/N), you can call me. Any time."

"Yeah, thanks Derek." You said somewhat abashedly. The men had all been compassionate and understanding after your panic attack, but you could also feel their intense curiosity the whole ride home. They had insisted on dropping you at your home instead of the BAU; Rossi had said that he would be by tomorrow with your car and anything you needed from the office.

They all watched as you walked up the flagstone path to your front door, and they were still staring as you locked the door behind you. You pushed the curtain on the door's window to the side and peeked out of it, smiling and waving to let them know that you were okay. But as you saw Morgan open the car door, you let out the exhaustion that you had been disguising and slid to the floor, supporting yourself crookedly against the wall. After each episode, the tiredness and dizziness would come like a pulsing wave, overtaking you and sending you careening to the nearest couch. It was no different this time; the only thing preventing you from passing out in the SUV was the knowledge that you would be coddled even more if you did.

But now, prone on the floor, you allowed the panic attack to run its full course. You forced your muscles to de-clench and tried to release the tension in your shoulders, and you closed your eyes, letting the relaxation from your body flow into your mind. Sitting there for a half hour, or maybe more, you let yourself recover to the point where you could stand up on knees that didn't knock and check your cell phone with hands that didn't shake. The processes had become routine by now, and you had found the best things to help yourself recover your energy and your raise your self-consciousness.

Although the bananas on your counter were more brown than yellow, you grabbed one along with a jar of peanut butter and sat down on the couch with it, setting your iPod to your favorite playlist. As the familiar tempo pulsed through your veins, you could feel it replacing the little adrenaline that was left. The peanut butter stuck to the top of your mouth, and you happily smooshed a chunk of banana in with it, finally feeling the slow happiness come back into a smile across your face.

Just as you finished the fruit (and almost the giant jar of peanut butter), there was a knock at the door. It was well past midnight, and the only reason someone would be knocking would be an emergency. So when Spencer's face was on the other side of the door, the adrenaline that pumped was not completely uncalled for. You yanked it open, and Spencer's look of shock mirrored your own.

"What's wrong?" You demanded. "What happened?"

"I…I was just checking on you." He stuttered. "I was worried about you after…what happened in the car."

"The panic attack," You corrected. "Call it what it is." You motioned him into the living room, clearing off a spot on the couch. "I'm okay, really."

"I've read about panic disorder. A lot. I know that sometimes it can be so difficult to recover from a panic attack that the subject's entire day is affected. Is that true?"

"Yeah, I mean in general, it's true." The distance between you two seemed insurmountable, but you knew that of all of the agents, Reid was probably the best one to understand. "Your mom…she has schizophrenia, right?"

"Yes." He looked alarm for a second. "You don't—this isn't—you don't have it, do you?"

"No. Straight up panic disorder." You admitted. "Generalized Anxiety Disorder through college turned into panic attacks once I got to the academy. I've learned to deal with it, though. You kind of…have to. Otherwise, it only gets worse." Reid was silent, but his eyes encouraged you to continue. "When they started…I tried. I tried to fight it. And…I just got exhausted. Burned out. My last semester in college, I barely made it through. My GPA dropped more in the last semester than the other seven combined, and it just made it worse."

"And then the GAD turned into panic attacks." Reid had slipped out of his jacket and relaxed into the couch, waiting patiently for your story.

"I was a psychology major in college. I was arrogant enough to dig into my own brain, to try and fix it, and it left with even more panic attacks than before." You couldn't even look up to meet his eyes; the only thing keeping you going was avoiding his pitying stare. Suddenly, the adrenaline came back for the third time that day. "I can't do this, Spencer."

The abrupt change did not go unnoticed, and Reid immediately shifted closer to you, reaching out as if to steady you. "(Y/N). What's wrong?"

"I just…I can't talk about it. I'm getting…"

"You're getting anxious. I can see it." His long fingers took your wrist, feeling your pulse, and he scooted even closer when he felt it racing. "Hey. Breathe. Breathe with me. In…and…out."

It helped. It helped a lot. Even more than the medication. "Yeah, I'm here. I'm good." You wiped away the sweat beading on your forehead and closed your eyes briefly.

He took the opportunity to sit back and slide in close to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. "You don't have to tell me."

"I don't?"

"No, of course not." It was the first time someone hadn't pressured you, and it felt good. Unusual, but good. And as you snuggled deeper into his arm, you couldn't help but realize….it even got better.


	9. Chapter 9

Prompt: a little hotch x reader Drabble/imagine where hotch has been injured and then the reader as well?

Morgan's hurried voice cut through the radio static. "(Y/N)! Stay where you—" it crackled again. "—five minutes—" You silenced the phone on your belt and pulled the gun from your hip, praying that Hotch would be in the ramshackle hut before you. There was a brilliant sunset through the trees to your right, but it only made it harder to see through the dusty windows into the cluttered interior. You inched up to the windowsill, trying to stay just out of sight. There were no sight lines into the interior of the shed, everything was too cluttered.

The door was firmly bolted shut, and it made you stop to think that maybe you really should wait for Morgan and his door-kicking prowess. But then you heard it—muffled shouts from inside the cabin. Rocking back onto your foot, you thrust your foot forward, placing the kick in exactly the place Morgan had taught you. It landed with a resounding thud, but the door didn't budge. Shit. Now he knew you were there. You shook your head, going for plan B. You fired at the bolt and threw your weight against the door, and it finally crashed down. But you were completely off-balance, and when it gave way, it took you with it. You landed hard on the floor, miraculously maintaining a grip on your gun. But as you looked up to see Hotch bound to an old chair, you sensed motion behind you.

The unsub kicked you as you scrambled to get back to your feet, and you rolled away from him, now grasping your side in pain. Hotch's eyes were wide and he was fighting at the restraints. "FREEZE!" you gasped out, levelling the gun at the unsub. But another wave of pain rolled through you, and he lunged as your focus swayed. He dove next to Hotch and pulled a knife from his pocket, holding it against Hotch's throat.

"Drop the gun." the man panted. "Or he's dead."

You didn't trust your aim enough to shoot at the man, and you could feel the pain from his swift kick radiating in your abdomen. Gingerly, you set the gun down on the ground.

"Kick it to me." You could see Hotch wildly shaking his head, and could almost hear his warnings in your head, but you did as the man asked.

"Get over here!" The unsub demanded. You took a careful step forward, then another, until you were close enough that the man turned his knife on you. Then you lunged at him, knocking him away from Hotch. He fought back, lashing out with the blade. You felt it slide across your jaw, a gash that spread from your chin to the outside of your eye, but you knew that you had to keep going.

Imagining the hours of combat training with Morgan, you knocked the bloody knife out of his hand and kicked him in the groin with all your might before kneeing him in the head. You were weakening though, you could feel the adrenaline in your body fighting a losing battle with your consciousness. With one good punch left, you aimed for his face and hoped like hell that it would knock him out. Down on one knee, you held a hand to your face and tried to see if he got back up…and he did. Hopelessly, you tried to stand, but before you got to your feet, you saw something else.

Hotch had managed to cut himself free with the knife and now was limping towards the unsub, vengeance etched on his bruised face. With one hit, Hotch dropped the man to the floor. As the last dregs of your consciousness seeped away, you saw him retrieve your gun and point it at the unsub's still body as he limped over to you.

"(Y/N)!" He said urgently, putting a hand on the side of your face. He set the gun down and fumbled for your cell phone on your belt, but you could already hear the sirens of the other BAU vans.

"Morgan's…coming…" You mumbled as pain shot through your face.

"Hang in there," Hotch said. His hand felt warm on your face, although maybe it was the blood that you could feel running down your neck. "It'll be okay." His eyes looked panicked, though, but you were too overwhelmed by the pain to care.

"Oh God." A female voice said. JJ's pale face swam before your eyes, and you could tell when one of her softer, smaller hands replaced Hotch's. She put her other hand on the other side of your face, supporting and comforting all at once. "Hey, (Y/N), it's going to be okay. Just stay with me, alright?" But you had done too much fighting today, and now you were safe…you let yourself fall into unconsciousness, grateful for the sudden calm.

Some time later, after you had danced and frolicked in a morphine-induced wonder world, you decided to wake up. The lights were obnoxious at first, and you squinted until Rossi's face loomed over yours, locking the bright rays. "Hey kid, welcome back. Don't try and talk!" He warned, laying a hand over yours.

Regardless of his warning, you did try and talk. The muscles in your face screamed in protest, and tears started flowing down your face. "(Y/N), don't try to talk! Stop moving!" You froze, fearful of the emotion in his voice. "The muscles in your face are injured, so the doctors immobilized your jaw for now. " You moved your hand, as if writing, and Rossi knowingly pulled a notepad from his pocket.

Hotch? You wrote.

"He's doing fine. The unsub broke a bone in his wrist and he's got a couple bruises, but he's fine. Morgan is getting him discharged right now.

Unsub? You wrote again.

"Alive, but locked up. Thanks to you." Over Rossi's shoulder, you saw Hotch and Derek at the entrance to your room, and you guessed the rest of the team wouldn't be far behind.

"(Y/N)." Hotch said, relief evident in his voice. "You're awake!" You tried to smile in response, but only succeeded in making your face explode again. More tears made their way down your face, and Rossi leaned over to press the call button. "Shhh." Hotch comforted you, stroking your arm. "Just relax."

You let yourself fall back into the pillows, closing your eyes. You took the notepad again, scribbling insistently. I'm sorry I messed up the entry.

He sobered, and pulled up a chair to sit next to you. "It was a mistake not to wait for back-up, but you're here. I'm here. And right now, that is what is important."

Sorry. You wrote again. Hotch smiled, taking away the notepad. "I don't accept your apology. You saved me, and that's what we take away from this."

The nurse came bustling in, and injected a new dose of pain medicine. "Just rest." Hotch said. "Sleep, we'll be here when you wake up. I promise."


	10. Chapter 10

Prompt: Imagine Hotch walking in on you and his brother.

A Brotherly Affair

Your desk in the bullpen was actually just a table and chair, shoved in the corner. You had to clear off the boxes of case files every time you returned from a stint abroad, but by now you were used to it. As a translator, frequent travel prevented the establishment of a permanent desk space. In fact, your desk on the last mission in Portugal was nothing more than a chair on the beach.

The weather in DC was not nearly as beautiful as Lisbon had been, but it always felt good to return to speaking your native tongue after a particularly long absence. The desks and offices of the BAU were empty, but an unfamiliar man was leaning against Hotch's door. His blonde-streaked hair suggested rugged adventure, but you weren't entirely convinced that it was natural. His forearms bulged with muscle, but you also detected the hint of a beer belly under his loosely tucked shirt.

"Can I help you?" You asked, approaching him.

"I'm just waiting for Aaron. I was supposed to meet him ten minutes ago, but he texted me and said he would be late. They're still in the air." He shrugged, and you got the impression that it had happened before.

"I'm (Y/N)." You said, holding out your hand.

"Sean. I'm Aaron's brother. Do you think he'll be away for long?"

"Depends on the flight. And FBI flights are notoriously unreliable on the backside of missions."

"Are you an agent?" For the first time, his eyes travelled down your body, taking in your leggings and running shoes.

"Not quite. I'm a linguist." You returned his glance, taking a closer look at his physique.

"So you're pretty good with your tongue." Immediately, he blushed. "Oh god. I said that. In the FBI."

"I am good with my tongue." You replied suggestively. He paused, and you could see the moment he picked up on the suggestive nature of the conversation.

"The question is, are you talented in other ways?" His teal eyes sparkled with mischief, and you felt yourself responding, inching infinitesimally closer to him.

"I know a way you could find out." You put your hand on the small of his back, and turned him towards the conference room. "This is BAU only. So when the team is out…"

"The room is all ours." No one in the bullpen seemed to notice the two of you quickly closing the blinds, and at this point you wouldn't have cared if they did. You had his shirt off and he had made his way out of his pants before taking his sweet time unzipping your sweatshirt. You kicked off your running shoes and leggings, and Sean had you out of your bra and underwear before you knew what was happening.

He picked you up and sat you on the table, kicking the swivel chairs out of your way. You lost yourself in the sensations, turning yourself over to Sean's expert hands. The silence in the room didn't match the firework show that was the two of you, but the secrecy only fueled your fire.

You were pressed against his warm, well-built body, your hair draping over his chest as you both came up for air. Suddenly, you heard the blinds click against an opening door, and froze. Slowly, you turned to look into the stunned eyes of Aaron Hotchner. Sean's head came up next, and slid into a wide grin when he saw who had interrupted.

"You're late." Sean said, casually getting off the table. As you were scrambling to pick up your clothes, Sean casually pulled on his boxers and jeans.

"(Y/N)?" Hotch asked, trying to wrap his head around what he was seeing. "What's going on?" He kept his eyes closed, but was still standing in the open doorway. Realizing this, he pulled the door shut.

"Aaron, we're all adults here. It's not (Y/N)'s fault that I'm so good looking." Hotch opened his eyes, and regained some of his authority. "Sean, this is a workplace. Not your…" He shook his head, and you got the impression that this was not the first time the brothers had addressed the topic.

You tried to seize a moment to speak. "Hotchner, I-"

"(Y/N), I'm not your superior, and I'm not going to report this." His words were neutral, but his message came through loud and clear. The shenanigans stopped now. You made your escape, making your way back to your desk as you listened to the raised voices. The rest of the BAU team watched curiously, and JJ gave you a playful wink as you passed her.

It lifted some of the shame that had fallen over you, and you allowed yourself a private smile of success. It hadn't been a long affair, but it was well worth it.


	11. Chapter 11

Prompt: Imagine shooting and killing someone for the first time, and Morgan comforting you when he sees how disturbed you are by the experience.

"What the HELL were you thinking?" Morgan's anger temporarily cut through the blaring sirens in your brain, but all you could focus on was the force of the recoil that still lingered, making your body vibrate like a guitar spring. Your white-knuckled hands were shaking as they held the revolver, but your arms were still frozen in front of you. Slowly, your eyes began to catch up with reality, and the person in front of you came back into focus. Blood leaked onto the floor, so dark that it looked black in the low evening light.

"(Y/N)." Morgan said forcefully. You heard him, but couldn't peel your eyes away from the man you had just killed. "Put your gun down, (Y/N). It's over." His voice was lower now, but more urgent. You swung around to face him, forgetting about the weapon still in your hands, but he caught your arm before catching the eye of the barrel. He holstered his own gun and slowly pulled the revolver out of your hands, emptying the one remaining round before handing it off to someone else.

"Let's go outside," he said slowly, watching you carefully. He laid a hand on the small of your back and led you past a slew of agents and officers already arriving on the scene, to a quieter patch of grass in the backyard of the house. You sank down into the dying grass without him asking, and he quickly sat down, mirroring you so that he was all you could see.

"I'm sorry," you murmured. The smell of gunpowder still hung heavy in the air, clinging to your clothes. You struggled to take off your bulletproof vest, and Morgan wordlessly reached over to help you out of it. But the smell was still with you, like another layer of skin. You shrugged out of your jacket, handing it to him, and began to untie your boot.

"(Y/N), what are you doing?" You kicked the shoe off and began working on the other foot.

"I can't…I just smell it everywhere." The other boot was off, but it didn't go away. "I can't get it off of me." You started on the buttons of your shirt, and Morgan just watched, brow furrowed as he tried to figure out a way to help you. Finally, you shrugged it off, and shivered in just your tee shirt. "I need to talk…to the officer. Agent involved shooting."

"Hey, hey. Right now, you need to sit. Breathe." You shivered again, your body shaking as you tried to control your breathing, but it only got worse as the details came to life in your head. Suddenly, you were hyperventilating, struggling to get away from the events replaying in your head. Something warm engulfed you, bringing you back down. As you regained control, you realized Morgan had wrapped you in his coat, and was rubbing your back in slow circles. The smell of his coat covered the smell of gunpowder, and it was a bit easier to focus.

"Did we get him?" You asked, sifting through the snippets of memory in your head.

"What?" His hands stopped, and a moment of panic cleared up the sequence of events.

"Oh god. I killed him. I shot him," you said, standing up. "I want to see him."

"No." Morgan said firmly. "You're in shock. Ten seconds ago you forgot that you shot him." His fingers wrapped around your wrist, and he shook his head. "Your pulse is racing, you just hyperventilated, you showed brief episodic amnesia. We're going to go see the paramedics."

"You sound like a doctor." He helped you to your feet, and looked down at your sock-clad feet.

"It's fine." You started to walk away, and as Morgan paused to pick up your boots and discarded clothes, you took the opportunity to go back into the house. The rest of the team was inside, processing the scene.

"(Y/N), don't…" He sighed in defeat, knowing you had beat him to the house. You walked wordlessly past Hotch and Rossi, who were talking by the door, and went to Reid and JJ who were photographing the body. His body. A spotlight had been set up, making his face look ghastly pale against the drying pool of blood. You could see four bleeding entrance wounds, but the fifth hole was in the wall behind him.

JJ noticed you standing beside her, and she straightened up, taking off her gloves. She touched your shoulder, but didn't say anything, letting you absorb the scene. Reid, engrossed in the evidence, didn't see you, and he began to rattle off his observations to JJ. "I think the first two shots were the left shoulder and this one by the ribs, but the third one to the neck was probably the shot that killed him. The fourth and fifth shots were only off target because he was already…"

"Dead." You finished for him. He looked up, registering your presence for the first time.

"Oh…I'm sorry. Are you alright?"

"Yeah…No." You turned and walked out, practically jogging, and Morgan followed. You dry heaved, and Morgan closed his eyes.

"We're leaving. Now." He kept a hand around your waist and walked you away from the house, and away from the man whose face was now burned into the back of your eyelids like a scar.


	12. Chapter 12

Prompt: Imagine the team finding out that your father is verbally abusive

You looked yourself up and down in the full-length mirror of your bedroom, sizing up the outfit that you had decided to be appropriate. You had been an intern at the FBI for almost a month, and somehow caught the attention of the elite BAU team after a chance encounter with Dr. Reid that turned into an hour long debate about best way to address pediatric psychopathy, eventually pulling in Tara Lewis and Derek Morgan as well. The next day, Agent Hotchner had stopped by your cubicle and casually told you that you would be joining their team for the rest of your time at the FBI.

What he probably didn't consider in his BAU introductory speech was that you already knew almost everything about the unit. You had been keeping track of several behavioral analysis units as part of your thesis for your master's degree, and the FBI's BAU team had one of the best records out of any that you had studied. As you packed up the little amount of personal items you had brought to liven up the gray box your desk was in, Hotchner picked up a picture, glanced at it, and handed it back to you. "You and your mother?" He inquired.

"Um…yeah. That was taken about two weeks before she passed away." You gently lay the photo in your bag and slung it over your shoulder, trying to avoid his eyes. You fumbled with the plug on your laptop charger, but Hotchner took the computer from you and smoothly undid the connection.

"I'm very sorry. I read in your file that your father is still alive?"

"Oh!" The discomfort probably showed, but Hotchner mercifully ignored it. "Yes, he's still working. He used to be an electrician, but he was put on some long-term disability a couple of years ago, so now he works in the office, which he's not very happy about."

The hallway seemed to be getting longer the more that you talked, but Hotchner wouldn't let up on getting to know you. "Do you see him often?"

"My Dad? I…I actually live with him. After getting my master's degree I took a year to work and apply for some better PhD programs, but I didn't have any money so I just moved back home. And now… I'm a 24 year old living in her childhood home."

He smiled. "I completely understand. The only reason I could afford an apartment after college was that my parents were the landlords." His confession brought a smile to your face and drained some of the tension from your body. Finally the two of you made it to the bullpen. "Your desk is that empty one against the wall. I know it seems a little isolated, but it's all the room we have for right now. Our conference room is in that corner, My office is opposite that, and Agent Rossi's is between. A couple of the agents had already turned away from their work and were smiling expectantly. "I understand you met these three already. Dr. Reid, Derek Morgan, and Tara Lewis."

Morgan was the first to move forward and shake your hand. "I'm looking forward to more debates on the plane. You and Reid can be our entertainment." Although you were slightly offended at the sentiment, a different sentiment rose to the fore.

"Plane?" You said meekly. Were they really going to let you travel with them? Go to actual crime scenes? Your stomach gurgled, unsure whether to be pleased or terrified.

"We'll probably have a case by the end of the week." Hotch said, "(Y/N), I'm sorry to leave you, but I have a meeting with the director in five. Derek, can you take her around to meet everyone else and get settled?" He handed the laptop over to you, and you (being clumsy) almost dropped it.

"Thank you Agent Hotchner!" You called out a few seconds too late.

"Typical." Morgan snorted. "He always starts a new project and then dumps it on me." He grinned, but let it drop from his face as he saw the shock on yours. "It was a joke! I'm happy to show you around. I'll roll out the proper BAU welcome mat."

You tried your best to smile, despite the anxiety that was growing in your stomach. "I'm just really thankful to have this opportunity."

"We're glad to have you too! Our last intern didn't last three days before we had to fire him."

Ice flashed through your body, stopping you short. "Are you serious?"

"No. Although if you can't take a joke, you probably won't make it here."

"…joke?" You ventured. His smile was warmth flooding through your veins and thawing your tension. You reached your new desk and deposited all your things. As you went to set up your laptop, he waved it away.

"Let it be. I'll have Garcia come by and hook you up later."

"Garcia?"

"Penelope Garcia, tech extraordinaire and a goddamn princess." He said it with reverence, earning another inquisitive stare from you. "Just go with it. Want to meet her?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?" He asked forebodingly.

"Another joke?" You asked again, a smile crawling to your face.

"You're learning fast."

A week later, your time (and overtime) had made you feel like you had been with the team for a year already. It was hard work, but you were learning so much. Today you had stayed late with Morgan and Garcia as they rehashed old cases, sharing funny, sobering, and semi-pedantic stories from their combined years at the BAU. "And since we have no boundaries…" Derek continued, his feet perched on Garcia's desk, "She started calling me some…inappropriate things. In front of Hotch, the team, and half of the local sheriff's department."

"You act like I'm the only one who's ever done that!" The three of you were laughing, so hard that your ribs hurt and it felt like the cartons of Chinese food you had just finished was going to make another appearance. Suddenly, your phone rang.

"Hey Dad!" you said brightly, trying to diffuse the anger you knew was coming.

"Where the hell are you?" Morgan and Penelope had politely stopped quieted doewn, so you were pretty sure that they heard the acid in your father's voice. You rubbed your forehead, hoping this wouldn't turn worse.

"I had to stay late at work. I'll be home soon."

"Didn't get enough done during the day? I'm surprised you haven't been fired yet." Morgan's eyes glanced up to meet Garcia's, and you took that as your cue to step outside.

"Dad, I'm leaving right now, okay. I'll be home in 20 minutes."

"Not at the rate you drive. I'll just lock the front door now and you can use your key."

"Dad, I don't have a key, remember? I lost my keys a couple of weeks ago." The curt beep cut you off, and you slid down the wall until you were sitting. It wasn't the first time this had happened, and it probably wouldn't be the last. You could just check into a hotel…or sleep at the BAU. You had spotted some pillows and blankets in the corner of Garcia's office. And you were sure it wasn't the first time one of the team had slept in the office.

Morgan poked his head out and, seeing you on the floor, walked over to where you sat. "Everything alright?" He was too polite to ask about what he probably heard of your conversation, but you could see it in his eyes.

"I'm good." He pulled you up to your feet and you followed him back into the office. "Garcia, do you mind if I borrow your pillows and blanket for the night?"

"Of course! But if you don't mind me asking…what for? They can't have given you too much work yet!" She grabbed a fluffy pink throw pillow and lofted it to you, right at your face.

"No, everyone's been great! If anything, I'm ready for more work."

Derek chuckled, leaning back again. "I'll keep that in mind. What's going on?"

"I…I still live with my Dad. My mom passed away a couple of years ago and after undergrad I just went straight for my master's, but now I don't have any money so I'm living at home again." You paused, but could tell that the pair of them weren't going to give up. "He gave me a house key, but I lost my keys three weeks ago and he won't give me another key. I guess I stayed a little too late tonight, so he locked the door. I was just going to grab a couch somewhere and sleep."

Morgan set his feet down and sat up straight, looking you in the eye. "You want me to take you to a hotel?"

"No money, remember? Besides, I'm used to it."

"You're used to it? Has he done it more than once?" Garcia laid a hand on your knee. "What's going on?"

"Really, it's not a big deal." You said. "It's just his way of dealing with stuff since my mom died."

"By taking it out on you?" Morgan said, outrage in his voice. Garcia laid her other hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down now.

"I don't mind, really. It's better if he's just left to himself, I need to get a place of my own, I kind of forced this on him."

"That's it. You can spend the night at my place." Morgan said, grabbing the empty Chinese boxes. You looked at Garcia, and she saw the alarm in your eyes.

"No she's not, Derek. She just met you a week ago." You breathed a sigh of relief. "She's coming home with me."

The next morning, your phone rang bright and early. Actually, it wasn't even bright outside. Just early. "Hello?" you asked groggily.

"Today's the day, kid." You recognized the voice from somewhere, but in your sleep addled state you were having a bit of trouble processing. "It's David Rossi," the voice on the other side said.

"Why are you calling me this early?" You fumbled to find a light switch, and then remembered where you were.

"We've got a case. I have your address on file, we'll pick you up on the way to the airstrip."

"I'm with Garcia right now. I'm not at home." You finally found the switch to the lamp, and was assaulted by the crazy colors around you. "I don't have any clothes though!"

"Morgan and Garcia can stop by your place on the way and you can pick some things up."

"Okay." He hung up before you said anything more, and you sat up against the back of the couch, trying to process. Your phone rang again before you could get much further, but Morgan's name popped up on the screen.

"Derek?" trying to wipe the sleep out of your eyes, you saw the light go on under Garcia's door. It was like the bat signal.

"I'll be over in twenty minutes to pick you guys up."

"I need to go home too. To grab some clothes and things."

"No problem. Just be ready." He hung up too, and Garcia was out of her bedroom before you could say anything else.

"Are you ready? Pick up's in twenty. We'll grab coffee and bagels on the way, best beans in the district."

"Yeah. yes, I'm ready. Does this happen a lot?" You ran a brush through your hair and tried to smooth out wrinkles in yesterday's blazer.

"They know not to interrupt my beauty sleep more than once a month. On some cases we have advanced knowledge though. More time to pack."

"I thought Hotch said on the first day that you stayed here?" You still weren't quite awake enough. "Do we even know where we're going?"

"Montana. Hotch wants me on this case, apparently it's out in the boonies and cell service will be spotty."

"I've never been to Montana." You mused sleepily, trying to pack everything back into your purse.

"I had never been a lot of places before the BAU."

"Has the team been to all fifty states?"

"Not to Hawaii," Garcia said, "Although ten years ago one of our own was blackmailed in Jamaica."

"God, your life is exciting."

She sat down next to you on the couch, patiently waiting for Morgan. "I got to go to Alaska once. Not actually my favorite trip. But the scenery was amazing." Her phone buzzed, Morgan was downstairs.

As the two of you hauled Garcia's bags down the stairs, she started listing off all of the other cases she had been invited along. "Good morning ladies!" Derek said, waiting at the bottom. "Breakfast is waiting in the car. You said we had to stop by your house?"

"Yeah, it's actually not too far from here. Five minutes tops.

The SUV pulled up in front of your Dad's house in less than three minutes, and you had to unpeel your fingers from the door handle. "I don't even know if I can get inside."

"Want me to come?" Derek turned the engine off and opened his door before you could think it over, so you just shrugged and let him follow you to the door. The second you stepped over the threshold, you knew it was a bad idea. If the door was open, your dad was home.

"Derek, maybe you should go wait in the car-"

"Derek? Who's Derek?" Your father said, swaggering over. "You didn't come home last night because you're getting some?"

You could see the fury hardening Derek's features. "Sir, I work with your daughter. There was no-"

"You're sleeping with your boss now, huh sugar? Maybe that will get you a salary so you can finally move out." You let the words rain down on you, but chose to run upstairs instead of facing him directly. You could explain it all to Derek and Garcia later.

In your bedroom, still decorated as it had been since you were in high school, tears of shame ran down your face. You rifled through your drawers blindly, then yanked open your closet and started throwing together outfits. You grabbed a few things from the bathroom, took a deep breath, and went back downstairs. "Are you ready to go?" Morgan asked politely.

"Have fun kids." Your dad spit. Morgan opened the door and took your bag from you, not saying a word until you left, muttering a small goodbye. He let the screen door slam shut behind him, and you could feel him seething on the short walk back to the car. You climbed in the back seat and sat there for a moment, trying to decide which emotion to deal with first.

Garcia saw your face in the rearview mirror, and immediately scurried out of her seat and opened the doors to sit next to you. Her arms wrapped around you, and tears that you were trying to hold in finally poured out. Morgan started the engine, still not saying a word. "Derek, I'm so sorry you had to see that," you said lowly.

"Is he like that every day?" His voice was even and calm, but he refused to meet your eyes. You didn't answer, and Garcia held you tighter. "Has he ever hurt you?"

"What? No! God no. He just says things."

"You can't live there anymore."

"Where am I going to go, Derek!" The emotional maelstrom just happened to be manifesting as bouts of anger. "I don't have another choice! Do you think I wanted to live with him?"

He went quiet, and Garcia was stopping her own sniffles. "You can live with me." She said.

"No offense, Penelope, but I'm not a fan of couch crashing. It does things to my back."

"You'll stay with me. I have a spare bedroom. Or Rossi. He's got five."

"I just met you last week. I'm not going to do that." You got a compact out of your bag and tried to fix the bagginess under your eyes, but it wasn't budging. Garcia pulled some make up out of her own bag and began to apply it.

"Close your eyes." She whispered. You felt her deftly applying the foundation.

"It's abuse." Morgan finally spat out. "I'm not going to let a fired of mine stay in an abusive relationship. I don't care if he's your father." Garcia stroked your cheek. "If you don't get out of there, I will come and arrest him."

"For what? Speaking his mind?" His hands gripped the wheel tightly. "We're both adults Morgan. It's not like I'm a kid anymore."

Garcia looked shocked. "Has he been doing this since you were a kid?"

"In a different way. My mom could always keep it in check, but after she died and I left for school, there was nothing stopping him."

"Please." Morgan said. "Please stay with me."

You froze for a moment, trying to weigh the consequences. If you agreed, it could be a new start. A new shot, a chance to finally be independent. Somehow, the thought of your father's anger seemed silly in comparison to Morgan's frighteningly strong rage.

You let the tension fall out of your shoulders, relaxing against Garcia's arm. "Okay."


	13. Chapter 13

Prompt: as one of the military's most valued code breakers, you choose to join the BAU on invitation. reid had admired you and your brain, but didnt realize that you were a woman and so young. he doesn't really like your abrasive attitude but at the same time is quite attracted to you

Your first day at the BAU loomed before you as you stared through the plate glass doors into the bustling room. You shifted awkwardly in the brand-new blazer you had bought for the occasion, as you had spent the past seven years of your life in crisply ironed dress blues. Your work with at Navy posts all over the world had made you legendary in the investigative community, and Agent Hotchner had specifically requested you to join the BAU in a campaign against branches of foreign intelligence that were operating in the US.

Though your training was diverse, your expertise was specific: you were the code breaker. Cryptology had interested you since high school, and after graduating college at 18, you had made the decision to skip graduate school and join the Navy. But you started at NSA, in another joint operation, and had worked with the best cryptologists that the world had to offer.

And it all led you here. Taking a deep breath, you pushed through the doors and made your way to the room that Hotch had directed you. You could see the team through the window and recognized everyone around the table from the files Hotch had sent you the week before. You had memorized the contents and had googled every one of them, desperate not to make a fool of yourself. As strong as your credentials were, your social skills were a bit…lacking.

"Oh good, (Y/N), you're here." The use of your first name surprised you after years of being called by your rank, but you tried to shake it off. You sat down, setting your leather attaché case (another new buy) off to the side after pulling out a yellow legal pad. As Garcia pushed a tablet in front of you, you waved it off.

"I prefer paper." You said abruptly. No one said anything; they just looked at you with a curious apprehension. Embarrassment settled into the pit of your stomach…were those really your first words to the team?

"(Y/F/N) is here on loan from the Navy." Hotchner continued. "As you know, she'll be helping us out on the task force."

"(Y/L/N)…"Reid repeated, looking stunned. "You co-wrote the paper on shifting pseudo-Enigma analysis of rapid-changing digital cryptographs."

"I wrote most of it," You corrected icily. A few eyebrows raised around the table, although you couldn't tell if it was your unfriendly tone or the name of the paper.

"You two can talk later." Hotchner said, standing up. "We need to get on the jet. I assume you're packed?" You nodded. "Good. I'll brief you all on the plane in 20 minutes. Reid, can you get (Y/N) to the airstrip?"

"They can ride with me," Agent Morgan said, standing up. "I can already tell Pretty Boy's going to be spewing math all day anyways." It sounded suspiciously like an insult, but Reid only chuckled.

"You're just jealous that you can't understand us."


	14. Chapter 14

Prompt: Reader has mental health issues and Hotch comforts her

TW: Thoughts of Suicide

You leaned against the wall, letting the white-washed bricks of the hospital walls behind you calm the hot shame that was coursing through your tired body. Hotch had kicked you out of the witness' room, and it felt like a slap in the face. It was one sentence, one wayward question that revealed a little too much and caused the subject to shut down. A nurse coming out of the room next door startled you, and sent you scrambling towards the stairwell down the hallway. You pushed through the heavy doors…straight into Derek's solid, muscled frame.

"Hey, (Y/N), how's it going?" He asked cheerfully, typing on his phone.

"Oh, um, fine." You choked out. "He's going to make a full recovery."

When he looked up, his wide smile faltered. "Are you okay? You're kind of pale."

You side-stepped around him, nodding. "I'm fine, I swear, despite what Hotch may tell you."

"What Hotch tells me?" He repeated confusedly. He followed you down the stairs until you whipped around to face him on the landing.

"Agent Morgan, I'm fine."

"Agent Morgan?!" He responded like he had been slapped in the face. Suddenly, another name rang through the stairwell.

"(Y/L/N)! We need to talk." Hotch's voice cut through your conversation, and you turned to escape before he could corner you, but he was too fast, and he caught up with you as you pushed through the doors to the level below.

"Leave me alone, Aaron." You tried to keep your voice cool even as anxiety exploded inside you like a punctured water balloon. His intense gaze flooded you, and in that instant, you knew. The carefully composed mix of pity and disappointment said it all.

"Come with me." He said firmly, guiding you into an empty patients' room. You followed him in, shutting the door behind you and leaning against it so no one could see in.

"You know. How do you know?" You asked flatly. You dug your hands deep into the pockets of your wool coat to hide the shaking. "(Y/N), we're friends. You think that I've never noticed that something's going on?"

"Bullshit." You replied. "I've never shown any signs in your presence. I work pretty damn hard to make sure of that."

"(Y/N), depression is nothing to be ashamed of." There it was. He had finally said it. You tensed, waiting for his next move, but he seemed to be waiting for yours.

"How do you know?" You asked, struggling to keep the tremble out of your voice.

"Reid told me."

"Reid doesn't know. Why are you lying?" He paused, appraising you quickly before answering. "You left a prescription slip on your desk…It was…in your mother's name." You stayed silent. What could you say? He was the only person who could possibly know your mother's name, and one of the only ones who even knew that she was dead. "The anti-depressants could only be for you. I looked at the prescription; it started just after your engagement ended."

You slid down the wall, seating yourself on the linoleum floor. Hotch came and sat next to you, ignoring the dust on the floor that would mar his pristine suit. He was far enough away to leave you personal space, but also so close that you could feel the heat of his body. "It was just before we broke it off, actually." You corrected, looking at the torn cuticles on your fingertips. You picked errantly at the hangnail on your thumb. "I told him." The words got jumbled in your throat, and you swallowed hard, concentrating on staring at a stain on the floor. "A week or two before, I told him about the depression, and that I was having suicidal thoughts again."

"And he left you?" Hotch's outrage was poorly hidden as he slid closer to you. "He's an ass." The word sounded strange on his lips, making you smile.

"No, it wasn't like that. He was concerned, the perfect fiancé and all that. He said he wanted me to get the help I needed, even pulled some strings to get me an appointment without a long wait." Now, the outrage on Hotch's face had melted into confusion. "I left him." You finally confessed. "I couldn't stand knowing that I made him worry. So…I just gave him some excuse, and we just sort of…stopped." You stared down at your lap, lost in your thoughts until Hotch gently touched your shoulder.

"He called me for a while after that, and emailed." You continued. "I just tell him that I'm okay, and nothing more. Telling you guys that he broke up with me just seemed easier."

"You wouldn't have had to explain anything. But what you said before…you were wrong. It doesn't take a psychiatrist to see that you haven't been sleeping. The prescription showed that you've been taking escalated doses every month or so like clockwork, which coincides with your afternoons off, probably to see a doctor. Am I right?"

"You read that prescription pretty thoroughly, then."

"I'm sorry for invading your privacy like that." He apologized.

"Lately…" You covered your face with your hands. "The medications…they're having weird side effects. Insomnia, achy muscles, headaches, you name it. My crazy is just getting worse, not better."

"You're not crazy. Depressed does not mean crazy."

"I feel crazy." you responded emphatically, letting a slow smile slide across your face. Even before the official diagnosis had come through, you had known that on some level, your brain could run circles around others', and you often felt the spinning thoughts overwhelm you. "I see crazy doctors to get crazy meds that make me even more crazy." The semi-serious and unabashed self-deprecation brought a matching smile to Hotch's face, and he rested his hand on your knee.

This conversation had not gone as it normally did, in all of your past experiences. He had known. He had done this before. "What you said before…" Hotch spoke even more gently, "about what you said to your fiancé…"

"I was wondering when you'd get back to that." You sighed, knowing there was no way that your words had escaped Hotch's notice. "Ask me."

"Are you considering hurting yourself?" You had been asked this before, and each time it had hurt like hell to give your answer, knowing the pain that your honesty, however necessary, would inflict.

"Yes." Hotch only gazed at you with his warm, sorrowful brown eyes. "And no…" You finished, backpedaling to explain.

"You don't have to tell me." Hotch comforted, trying to spare you embarrassment.

"Then I won't. I don't need you to worry about me."

"I worried about you even before I knew what was going on. The team, the BAU…it's your home, and your family. You never talk about other friends or family, you rarely take vacations…After you broke up with your fiancé, we were all concerned."

"I am who I am." You said softly, finally moving your leg out from under his comforting hand.

Hotch pulled his hand back, folding his fingers in his lap and looking straight ahead. "You are who you are." He repeated. "But you're also part of a team. We want to be there for you. And we can't do anything when you don't tell us when you need us."

"I don't need you." You said. But the words felt bitter in your mouth.

"I'm not asking to be your therapist. I just want you to know that when you have a bad day, we're here. Call Morgan, call JJ, call me. We've all had those days." He noticed your dubious expression. "You don't think each and every member of the team has come to me? Every one of them. Reid, Garcia, Rossi…Call Emily, if you want someone to talk to. She of all people would understand."

"Emily…has had problems?"

"She would understand," Hotch responded. You didn't say anything, simply standing up and offering an open hand to your boss. He took it and dusted off his pants as he appraised you. Without saying anything more, you opened the door and walked out, passing by Morgan, who had been joined by Reid and JJ. As you walked away, Hotch's words echoed in your head. I'm not asking to be your therapist. Good. You didn't need a therapist. Right now, all you needed was someone on your side. All you needed was someone on your team. And luckily, you had more than enough to choose from.


End file.
